Spectra
by HoodedSpellcaster
Summary: A collection for 'A-Z Challenge' at HPFC. /26 different pairings. /8. Ron/Luna. "Ron had only hoped to get away from girls for a moment and the kitchens had seemed like a reasonable hiding place. And in the end, that's exactly what they are."
1. Chapter 1 Ashes to Ashes

Name: Ashes to Ashes

Colour: Ashen grey

Pairing: Fred Weasley/Bellatrix Lestrange,

Summary: There is something in older woman that makes Fred Weasley offer his nonexistent innocence to the rattlesnake mama.

Frellatrix, Magical!AU with no Voldemort, background George Weasley/Verity

A/N: This starts my collection for '_A-Z Challenge'_ at HPFC. All these 26 drabbles/short fics are based on different colours and each colour has a different pairing. This is my first try writing Frellatrix, even though I've shipped it quite some time. As for the other challenges/competitions: this is for the _'Rare Pairings Challenge'_ at HPFC.

* * *

"_Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,_

_Show me a woman that a man can trust._

_Snakes on the desert and fish in the sea,_

_A rattlesnake mama made a sucker out of me"_

– '_Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust'_ by Woody Guthrie

* * *

**Ashes to Ashes**

Let me tell you how I actually met this rattlesnake mama to begin with.

It happened couple years ago when I was still young and innocent. If I had ever been innocent but young I was anyway. The O.W.L.s were long gone and since Georgie and I had politely said no to the academic career there were no N.E.W.T.s to study for. And thanks to Harry and his generosity, George and I had finally had the money we needed to fulfil our dream.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been our best idea since we had discovered pranking.

Though George and I are practically inseparable – like Siamese twins without that whole Siamese part – I had left him to spend time with this girl, Verity. She was a nice girl, with quite extensive knowledge of our products. And I knew Georgie had a thing for blondes so what else could have I had done than leave them converse about the working hours and whatnots.

So I went wandering around Diagon Alley and before I knew it had wandered a bit too for.

I mean, Knockturn Alley, whatever could go wrong?

I was a little lost and what's a better way to get your sense of direction back into order than having a pint. I could have picked the place to say a bit better, though. I mean, if Leaky Cauldron was considered shady, this pub was downright rotten.

That was when I first saw Madam Bellatrix Lestrange. She caught my eye in a flash. She was tall for a woman, with long and curly black hair that fell in thick layers over her shoulders and down her back. In the dim lighting of the pub her face appeared as ashen grey and her darkly rouged lips were almost black in my eyes. She was dressed in all black – the corset, the bodice, sleeves, and the skirt. All black, nothing else.

And something in that hot, older woman made me shudder. She wasn't just beautiful. She was _intimidating_. She glared me from under her long, dark eye-lashes when I sat down next to her. I had no particular idea what to say to her; how to approach her without making myself look like a fool.

Well, I think my poor pick up lines weren't apt to warm her up but at least I made her laugh. She treated me a drink once I told her I was of age, and then told me to go home to grow up.

And that's what I did, for the time being.

"What's up with you, Fred?" George asked when we lay in our beds that night. I had always been able to talk with George about everything and I knew I could be honest with him. He sat up and looked over the room and straight at me. "Freddie, my buddy, old pal," he prompted and tossed a pillow at me. "Tell your brother."

I caught the pillow before it hit me. I grinned at George and he quizzically raised his brows.

"Well, Georgie," I said. "I think I'm in love."

* * *

I remember coming to that dirty old pub few times just to be disappointed to notice she wasn't there. It was like trying to expect the unexpected. Sometimes the bartender told me she had left already. Or that he hadn't seen her in days, which was always the worst of all options.

But then again, the days when she happened to feel like coming to the pub were wonderful. We talked a lot, flirted a little, and she let me understand she could reciprocate my feelings. I was completely smitten by her.

"Well, Freddie," she cooed that one fateful day, running her finger down my cheek. "Would you like to go with me somewhere… more private?"

She licked her lips teasingly and I nodded shakily. I had slept with Angelina once so I couldn't be called completely inexperienced even though our first time was never mentioned afterwards. I had even watched those very instructive muggle movies Dad had hidden in the attic. But this was going to be different. Well of course it was going be different. Bellatrix was old enough to be my mother. She had the experience I couldn't even dream of having.

And it was such a turn on. Girls of my own age had never really, you know, been worth my time.

"Sit down," she whispered in my ear before she kissed her way down and opened my belt buckle. "And let Mama Bella make you see stars."

It continued almost two months like that. We met at the pub, drink few shots, apparated somewhere, and had rough, mind-blowing sex. But then the meetings stopped, just like that. I tried to contact her through the bartender and other customers at that filthy pub but either they knew nothing or they simply were just unwilling to share their knowledge about Bellatrix Lestrange.

She had vanished into thin air, like ashes to wind.

Apparently she had been married this whole time and been only looking for someone to toy with and I had been there but that's something I can never know for sure.

I had been in love with her. I had been young and foolish and still not innocent, you should note that. And even though I had in the end made a fool out of myself, I yet haven't met a woman who would rival the rattlesnake mama.

After all, she taught me a thing or two.


	2. Chapter 2 Because You Love It

Name: Because You Love It

Colour: Bubblegum pink

Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks

Summary: Charlie and Tonks watch clouds.

Friendship, Pre-Chardora, Charlie and Tonks are still at Hogwarts.

A/N: Just a pointless Chardora fluff because I felt like it. I remember the time I used to ship Tonks and Charlie only as friends but nowadays I ship them as a couple so hard.

* * *

"And that one looks just like my dad."

Tonks points at the large, distantly human-shaped cloud. She lies on her back on the grass, wearing worn out denim overalls and an oversized t-shirt. The OWLs are over and we are allowed to wear whatever we want. I grin. Her left foot is missing a sock. She's not very finicky when it comes to her clothes.

Her family isn't exactly poor but they aren't wealthy either. From what she has told me her mum is a pureblood and her dad is a muggleborn. But due to her maternal family's pureblood elitism her mum was disinherited for marrying her dad or something along those lines. Which is completely ridiculous, if you ask me.

I met Ted Tonks last year at the King's Cross. He's a tall, stout man with broad shoulders and blonde hair. He's nice. Tonks has his smile but other than that I think she looks like her mum. Or not since she's a metamorphmagus after all. I've never met Andy Tonks but I'm sure my parents would be delighted to meet both Ted and Andy.

"Whaat? Old man Tonks looks nothing like that!" I laugh. "No, no, no! That cloud clearly has curves! It's my mum, no kidding!"

"Okay, fine, it's your mum," Tonks snickers. "What about that one?"

I look up at the blue sky and narrow my eyes.

"That's a flamingo for sure."

Tonks starts laughing uncontrollably. "Buahahaha! A flamingo?!" She wipes away a tear. "Oh jeez, this is hilarious! How can you get a flamingo out of that!?"

I make a face. "What do you see then, huh, Tonks?" I tease. Tonks' face turns bright red and she puffs her cheeks childishly.

"…a giraffe. And don't you laugh at me, stupid Charlie!"

* * *

"Tell me, Tonks. Why did you choose pink of all colours?"

I lie on my side and lean on my hand and look curiously at Tonks. Her hair is short, spiky, and very unnaturally bright bubblegum pink in colour. It has been her most common hair colour since our third year.

"Jealous much, Charlie?" Tonks asks and sticks out her tongue. Her dark eyes twinkle and she hugs her knees.

"You bet I am," I say very seriously. "I've always wanted even more flagrant hair than I already have. But really, why?"

Tonks looks down at me as if I just asked the most ridiculous question ever before she falls on her back and lolls closer to me. We're practically so close that her nose almost touches mine. She grins widely.

"Because you love it," she teases and ruffles my hair.

I blush but she doesn't notice because she has already sprawled comfortably over my chest. She faces the sky but her eyes are closed and she hums something softly. Tonks doesn't have problem with the intimacy. She barely knows the concept of the personal space. She is brilliant and selfless but as clumsy as a nearsighted troll with a temper of a mother dragon.

"I'm so happy you're my friend, Charlie Weasley," she says.

_It's not just the hair I love._

"And I'm happy you're my friend, Nymphadora Tonks."

_It's the whole package._

"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!"

_Yup. That's my girl._


	3. Chapter 3 Coffee Break

Name: Coffee Break

Colour: Café au Lait brown

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

Summary: Draco reflects on his life during the coffee break.

Pre-Dramione, a-bit-angsty!Draco, Post-War, EWE.

A/N: I don't like coffee so beware the very slight coffee bashing in the beginning. :D

* * *

There are people keep saying coffee has a unique aroma that makes you forget how painful it is to be awake.

I have to disagree with them.

The witch behind the counter glares at me. It's no surprise really; I'm not the perfect customer. An Ex-Death Eater working for the Ministry, have you heard for something as ridiculous before? I should be thankful for even being hired with such reputation. I pay for my beverage and go sit on the table furthest from the door. I know I could've just gotten a take-away but it's too late for that anyway. I sigh.

Coffee breaks are the worst.

This café is a popular one in the midst of the Ministry workers, and they aren't my favourite people to deal with. I'd just rather avoid meeting any of them. That would be too much to ask for, wouldn't it? A moment of peace? Of course, I choose to come here anyway so I'm not allowed to complain. It's a habit by now and I don't even like coffee.

I close my eyes and tighten my hold of the coffee cup. Sometimes anxiety is about to crush me. If I'm bound by my past, will I ever be enough for this world? My eyes flicker open and I gaze into the pool of now lukewarm liquid, contemplating why I even bother trying. I don't like it.

_/The coffee is bitter. It's dark. Revolting/_

I laugh dryly. I guess my life is like the coffee then.

"Here."

I look up at Hermione. She places one cup of steaming liquid in front of me, keeping one for herself. She sits down as if invited. I don't complain though. She's part the reason why I have this job after all. Hermione digs some papers and lays them on the table between us.

"What's that?" I ask pointing at the cup.

"Coffee," Hermione replies. "With milk. Since you were staring your coffee with such disgust. Drink it up. You look tired enough already."

I roll my eyes. She's such a mother hen. Did she get that habit from the Weasel Mum? From what I know she's still close with the Weasley family even though she and Weasley aren't together anymore. I look at my reflection in the window. She's right; I look tired. There are dark circles around my eyes. I blame the stress. I just can't sleep at night. Hermione stares at me expectantly and sips her coffee.

I sigh. "What're you really doing here, Granger?"

She looks tired as well, and a bit messy. It seems like the rumours about things being hectic at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are true. An eagle feather quill sticks out from her hair but I'm not sure is there on purpose or not.

"Well, _Malfoy_, this is a fairly popular café," she teases with a smirk.

Isn't that just brilliant? There are days when it's impossible to get answers out of her and today seems to be one of them.

Almost two years ago when I started working at the Ministry, Hermione Granger decided to slither into my life. I had problems to cope with people who were prejudiced about me. They thought they knew me, but they didn't get even close the truth. They still don't know me.

They reminded me of the time when I used to be just like them.

Hermione on the other hand was completely different.

_/But add a little bit of something else/_

I take a sip of the drink. The liquid is not burning hot and the typical bitterness of coffee burns my tongue but the taste isn't as horrible as it used to be. It's actually… quite tolerable. No, not tolerable. It's _pleasant._

"Well?" Hermione prompts with a wide grin. "It's good isn't it?"

She used to be annoying but nowadays her presence is sort of comforting. She's still kind of a know-it-all she was back at school and I highly doubt she'll ever change. She smiles often and enjoys reminding me of that one time when she punched me. She doesn't hide the scars on her arm and sometime's she makes me wonder if I can someday be as open with my scar.

I smile faintly. "It's better."

_/And maybe it's not as bad as it used to be/_


	4. Chapter 4 Do Not Run in the Greenhouse

Name: Do Not Run in the Greenhouse

Colour: Dark green

Pairing: Neville Longbottom/Barty Crouch Jr

Summary: Neville couldn't say no when he was asked to look after former Death Eater and Azkaban resident Barty Crouch Jr. Life really could be a lot easier if someone didn't ignore the warning signs.

A/N: Very short BartyNeville one-shot. I had the idea for this fic months ago and now I'm so disappointed in this. Pre-slash. One-sided? Fifth Year AU. This is also for the '_Rare Pairings Challenge'_ at HPFC.

* * *

_This is the lesser of two evils_. _It was either this or Azkaban, and I'm not going back._

* * *

DO NOT RUN IN THE GREENHOUSE

It's a simple command and yet some people don't manage to grasp the concept.

"Okay, if you could just be still…"

"Easier said than done, Longbottom," Barty hisses when Neville brings a pair of tweezers close to his arm. "I'm the one looking like a hedgehog. Ouch! Careful!"

Neville drops the dark green thorn he had pulled out into the small container and sigh. The broken pot and remains of a Stinger Bush lay on the greenhouse floor.

Sometimes Neville wishes it isn't always him who gets the short end of the stick. But of course – because Neville appreciates Professor Sprout very much and the greenhouses are his only private sanctuary – life is always the hardest for the kindest ones.

It is Hogwarts, after all. What can possibly go wrong when you get to watch over a former Azkaban resident?

Neville refrains from frowning. Barty Crouch Jr had proved that he can be more than a bit difficult to deal with. He is whiny and demanding, like a petulant child. Nothing like when he was impersonating Professor Moody. That's something what Neville had learned during the past week. But there has to be something good in the former Death Eater, Neville thinks as Barty glares at him. Somewhere. Maybe.

"I go fetch Professor Sprout to remove the rest of the thorns," Neville says and places the container and the tweezers to the nearest table.

It's useless to try to get along. Neville doesn't really like fighting with Barty – it's quite opposite, actually – but Barty doesn't seem to appreciate his company. Whatever Neville does, Barty finds a way to complain about it. But for Neville's surprise, this time Barty grabs Neville's sleeve and stops the younger man from leaving.

"No thanks," Barty snarls. "I'm already on Sprout's black list. Just get the job done and I'll stop whining."

Neville blinks in surprise. "Okay." He isn't sure does his delight shine through his attempted calmness.

Without any further complains from Barty, Neville – one by one – removes the thorns. Slowly, painfully slowly, almost waiting for a complaint. But Barty keeps his word and sits silently on the edge of the gardening table.

"There. You're good to go." Neville pats Barty's arm after the last one is pulled out. The small thorn-filled container rests on the side table. Maybe Professor Snape can use them in Potions? "No more being hedgehog-y," Neville adds.

"You're a dork, Longbottom," Barty says with the smallest hint of a genuine smile on his face and Neville chuckles. "But thanks. I guess I'll survive."

"Just don't run inside the greenhouse and you'll survive a way longer," Neville says.

"Stop lecturing me," Barty retorts almost playfully. "I'm not a child. Unlike you."

"Oh, so you're such an old man, aren't you?"

Neville grins but Barty's smile disappears instantly. Neville wants to say something. _Anything_. But nothing comes out. Barty stands up and mutters something under his breath:

"I'll go show my arm to Pomfrey. Don't expect me to come back here."

Neville doesn't stop Barty when he's leaving the greenhouse but the room feels suddenly a lot colder. The warmth he felt is gone.

The pot shards are still on the floor. The Stinger Bush isn't going to make it. It's so hard to breath.

"It's never going to happen, is it?"

Maybe he's the one ignoring the warning signs.


	5. Chapter 5 Enjoy the Silence

Name: Enjoy the Silence

Colour: Emerald Green

Pairing: Albus Potter/Myrtle Warren

Summary: Albus is up to no good but Myrtle can't exactly do anything but enjoy the silence.

A/N: Very short one-shot of one of my favourite Next Gen pairings. This is a spin-off for my first long HP-fic 'SPHP' but it works well alone. Next Gen, Fifth Year, Slytherin!Albus.

* * *

When I leave my body, I – for a moment – feel so light and calm and… relieved. It's like all my woes and regrets had been taken away. Just like reality is somewhere far away. In some other time, in some other dimension even. Or like reality doesn't even exist.

I want to stay there – wherever I am – forever, but apparently it's not my time to leave this world. My ethereal fantasy world begins spinning and I hear a terrible noise as I'm violently pulled away from the sanctuary I have found in silence. I'm so tired. I only want to sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

But then again, ghosts can't really sleep.

I'm blinded momentarily when the light meets my eyes. I know every slippery tile and broken faucet of this toilet. I'm used to every cracked sink and clogged toilet and the sound of dripping water.

What I'm not used to, not yet at least, are the soft emerald eyes.

Albus is all settled in. He has loosened his green and silver tie and his prefect badge lies abandoned on top his dark robe. He sits there with crossed legs, in front of the row of sinks, smiling a bit as his quill dances on the paper. There are piles of books and papers on the floor around him. He's doing his homework, I suppose. He always has lots and I think library would be more appropriate place for them but he claims it's easier to concentrate here where no living soul can bother him.

I can't really be counted in as a _living soul._

How long passed? Minutes, hours, or even days? No, it couldn't be days, I remind myself with a shake of my head. So, maybe minutes.

Albus looks up at me. His eyes twinkle behind his glasses as his namesake's did once upon a time. They're like two gems, sparkling so bright in the dull lightning of the bathroom. He has his father's eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks kindly.

I shrug, floating down next to him. I'm close enough to almost pass through him, close enough to make the goose bumps appear on his skin. I don't want him to be uncomfortable around me. He says that what I am doesn't bother him, and I want to believe he speaks the truth. I really want to.

"Silence does good, doesn't it?"

I just hum in response.

Albus turns the page of an old leather-bound book. It's from the Restricted Section for sure. He has a habit of reading those, now even more than before. I never ask what they're about but I have my suspicions. He shouldn't read that kind of books.

Humans can't fall in love with ghosts.

Albus will graduate and get a job. He'll get married to nice a woman from a good family and get a child or two with her. They'll grow old and die. Because that's what people do.

Sometimes silence is golden, and it's okay to just…

Enjoy the silence as long as it lasts.


	6. Chapter 6 Fucking Boxers

Name: Fucking Boxers

Colour: Fuchsia

Pairing: Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan

Summary: Dean has an important interview for the job he wants.

A/N: I'm a huge Deamus shipper. I mean, how can people not ship it?

* * *

This time Dean is certain of it: the laundry day is the worst day of the week.

To be honest he's happy they own a washing machine in the first place. When they moved in they didn't have one, so they were forced to use the one downstairs. Mrs. Burnaby, their old and nosy neighbour from the first floor who practically lives in the laundry room and keeps her eye on everyone in the house, never really liked them. She keeps on telling everyone there is something wrong about him and Seamus, namely their relationship. Narrow-minded hag she is, Dean huffs.

But this time Mrs. Burnaby has nothing to do with anything. Dean opens the machine and without further thinking takes a piece of clothing out. His eyes widen in shock. No, no, no. This couldn't happen. Not now. He digs deeper in the washing machine, and Dean stares – _glares_ – at the one particular piece of fabric. He takes a deep breath and yells:

"SEAMUS!"

The running steps can be heard across the corridor. "What is it?" Seamus asks, a little out of breath. "Did me mam call yer again? Tell me she didn't cos I've tried to tell 'er we're not movin' back–"

With a grim expression Dean shows him a pair of bright fuchsia boxer shorts.

"Are these yours?" he asks. A wicked grin appears on Seamus' face.

"Well they certainly ain't yours, are they?" he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows, but Dean's expression doesn't falter. "Yer don't like them?" Seamus asks quietly, dropping his flirtatious act.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's not the case," he mutters. "Look at this." Dean shows a baby pink, collared shirt to Seamus. Seamus taps his chin thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Mm, I kinda fancy that colour," he says.

"I have a job interview tomorrow, and I was supposed to wear this shirt," Dean explains patiently. He takes a deep breath. "Does it look white to you?"

"Umm, no?" Seamus says, crossing his arms. "But in me defense, Dean, pink looks good on yer."

Dean groans in exasperation, dropping his now ruined shirt and Seamus' boxers back to washing machine. He is going to die, that's for sure. It's Sunday, all shops are closed, and his only fitting white shirt has turned pink. He's never going to get that job now and soon they won't have money to pay their bills and they will have to move back to Mrs. Finnigan's house and–

As if knowing Dean was starting to sound borderline hysterical inside his head, Seamus places his hands on Dean's shoulders and shakes him.

"Dean!" Seamus shouts, forcing Dean back to earth. "Calm down and listen to me! I know what yer are thinkin' and I don't like it so answer this: which one of us has the better fashion sense?"

Dean grimaces. "You, but–"

"So yer'll let me pick the clothes for the interview?" Seamus presses on, raising a single eyebrow.

"What? No!"

"Don't yer trust me?"

"Shay…"

"Don't yer trust me, Dean?" Seamus asks again.

"I... Fuck, Shay," Dean groans.

Seamus grins victoriously. "We'll do that later," he says, patting Dean's shoulder. "Now yer can go to kitchen, make yerself a nice cup of tea, and I'll put these clothes away. Okay?"

Dean smiles at him. "Okay. I trust you."

When Seamus finally hears the sounds of kitchen cabinets opening and closing, he finally dares to sigh. He loves Dean, he really does, but sometimes he just has to intervene.

"Sometimes a boyfriend gotta do what a boyfriend's gotta do," he says with a soft smile, picking up the now pink shirt. "He would never get that job dressin' up like an office worker."

And there is no way he wants to move back to his mother's place.

* * *

A/N: In my headcanon Dean becomes an illustrator for children's books. :)


	7. Chapter 7 Greed

Name: Greed

Colour: Gold

Pairing: Mulciber/Mary MacDonald

Summary: There is this girl Mulciber shouldn't want but that doesn't mean he will stay away from her. He will get Mary MacDonald in one way or another.

A/N: Slightly shorter version of this was also featured in QLFC's Daily Prophet competition when our team wrote a collaboration fic about The Seven Deathly Sins.

* * *

_It's not enough._

Mulciber stares at his Defence essay. In the top corner is a neat O for Outstanding. Defence has always been easy for him but the perfect score didn't feel as good as it should. There should be something better than Outstanding. Something more desirable than the top score and praises from the professor. Outstanding just wasn't enough anymore. It didn't fill the void of the finer demands he has in mind.

"It's just not enough," Mulciber whispers and licks his lips. Much finer demands.

"What're you mumbling here?" Avery asks and snatches the paper from Mulciber "_Outstanding!?_ You little nerd! Last time you got Exceeds Expectations!"

Mulciber refrains from rolling his eyes and just takes his paper back from Avery. "Don't you get it, Avery?"

"What? I get that the good grades aren't good enough for you anymore," Avery teases. "What else do you want?"

"That, Avery," drawls Mulciber in a bored tone and stuffs the essay into his bag, "is a brilliant question."

Brilliant is an exaggeration. It was such a simple question, really. And such simplicity could've been expected from Avery, Mulciber muses. Maybe he should try getting smarter friends? The idea enthrals him but there will always be perks of being friends with someone from the Sacred Twenty Eight.

"I want everything you can possibly imagine. I want power," Mulciber says, deciding to ease Avery's curiosity. "I want fame and fortune. Status!" There's a maniacal glint in his eyes. "And glory! I want to be remembered as something more than just a brat from Montrose! I want _everything._ And more importantly…" He smirks and points over Avery's shoulder. "I want _her_."

Avery turns around but no one in particular strikes his attention. Mulciber raises Avery's chin and guides him to look at the right direction. Avery doesn't even try to hide his disgust.

"You're not serious, are you?" he hisses. "You do realize that's MacDonald from Gryffindor?"

"I know who she is," Mulciber says simply.

"Then you should know there's _no way_ you could have her," Avery deadpans. Sometimes he wondered if his friend had been dropped one time too many as a baby. "And even if you could, you shouldn't. Dirty blood–" He lets his voice trail off and he shudders in disgust.

But Mulciber merely grins. There's no such thing as no thing. And of course the forbidden fruit always tastes the best. He would never turn his back for something he wants, whatever it is.

Mary MacDonald is more valuable than gold and silver, diamonds and pearls. Who cares about the blood status when she can make it up in other ways?

Mulciber licks his lips. He's avaricious and he knows it. Right now, he wants Mary MacDonald. The beautiful golden haired Mary, the sun shining through dark clouds. And he's going to get her in one way or another. She is just a breath away. Almost in his grasp; all he needs to do is to reach for her.

"Now tell me, Avery, are you familiar with the Imperius Curse?"

_Drastic times call for drastic measures._


	8. Chapter 8 Hoovering Noiverns

Name: Hoovering Noiverns and Melon Earrings

Colour: Honeydew

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Luna Lovegood

Summary: Ron had only hoped to get away from girls for a moment and the kitchens had seemed like a reasonable hiding place. And in the end, that's exactly what they are. /Fourth Year AU where Luna is Ginny's childhood friend, set right after the Yule Ball, mentioned Ginny/Neville

A/N: Sometimes I let my sister pick a pairing. This is one of those times. I don't even know where I was going with this story.

* * *

"Hello, Ron," Luna says airily when Ron passes her in the corridor.

Ron halts, cursing under his breath. He looks around, sighing in relief when he finds the place completely deserted. He doesn't really like to be seen with his little sister's friend, especially when the said friend is none other than Luna Lovegood. And this is just what he needs, Ron thinks angrily. Hermione is mad at him for some reason, Parvati Patil glares at him whenever she sees him, and Ginny talks to him only about Longbottom and how happy they're together. Ron had only hoped to get away from girls for a moment and the kitchens had seemed like a reasonable hiding place.

But it isn't. Oh, it certainly isn't. Of course the world will be against him and _punish_ him. Luna tilts her head, waiting for Ron to acknowledge him.

"Uh hi, Luna," Ron mumbles. He really doesn't feel like talking with anyone. Not even with Luna. He just wants house elves to cook him something greasy and eat his feelings.

Luna smiles her typical serene smile. "Are you going to the kitchens?"

Ron just nods, hoping Luna will drop the subject and go her merry way back to the Ravenclaw Tower. No such luck. For some reason Luna seems to have made it her mission to bother Ron whenever she can. Ginny thinks it's amusing and so she keeps inviting Luna over for every possible holiday.

"Mind if I join you?" Luna asks. "House elves always store me spare corks for charms."

"Sure," Ron sighs.

Luna doesn't seem to mind to mind the silence between them, but Ron is far from feeling comfortable.

"Nice earrings," Ron says, pointing at the two pale green strips hanging from Luna's earlobes. She had been fumbling them absentmindedly just a moment before.

"Thank you," Luna says brightly. "I made them out of honeydew peels. They're supposed to attract Hoovering Noiverns. I'm studying them with my dad."

Ron frowns. "Hoovering–? What?"

"Hoovering Noiverns," Luna repeats. "They like melons and loud noises. I think there was a swarm of them last night. I haven't seen one today."

"You should've been at the Ball, then," Ron muses. "Plenty of noise and–"

Luna stops abruptly. She just stares at Ron, as if he had just grown a second head. Ron bites his tongue as the realization hits him. Luna is a third year student. She wasn't allowed to go to the Yule Ball without a date. No one had asked her.

"So… Did the guy you like ask you to the Yule Ball?" Ron asks awkwardly.

He has heard a plenty of Luna's crush from Ginny, but Luna never mentions him when Ron is around. Ginny says it's because Ron is stupid and would never understand. Luna shakes her head, reaching for her butterbeer cork necklace. It works as a safety blanket whenever she panics.

"No," she says after a while. "He didn't ask me. He went with someone else."

"Well he must be an idiot," Ron blurts out. His ears match his hair sooner than he can splutter out another sentence he hasn't really thought through.

Luna simply smiles. "Shall we go?" she asks. "To the kitchens?" she adds when Ron just looks at her dumbly. "For pudding and chicken legs?"

"Oh, right," Ron says brightly, scratching the back of his head and grinning. "For pudding and chicken legs."

Ron had left the Gryffindor Tower to get away from girls and the kitchens had seemed like a brilliant hiding place. And they are, especially if you don't need to be hiding alone. That's something Ron is sure of. He doesn't need to think why Hermione is mad at him, or try to avoid Parvati at the common room. He certainly doesn't need to listen to Ginny.

Luna is there, talking about Hoovering Noiverns and melon earrings, and Ron doesn't mind it at all.

* * *

"_Well he must be an idiot," Ron blurts out._

_Yes. Yes, you are, Luna thinks behind her serene smile. She doesn't say it out loud, and she probably never will. But in a way, Ron is her idiot. And that's more than enough._


End file.
